


All Wrapped Up With A Pretty Little Bow

by theorchardofbones



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Sex, Christmas Smut, Gift Giving, King!Noctis, Lingerie, M/M, Stolen Moments, Winter Solstice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-20 06:33:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17017551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theorchardofbones/pseuds/theorchardofbones
Summary: Not much has changed in the Citadel since Noct's coronation — the Solstice traditions his late father once joyously indulged in are now his to uphold. On the eve of the Winter Solstice, however, Noct has something else in mind for how he'd like to spend the night, and it involves Ignis and a gift of expensive lingerie...





	All Wrapped Up With A Pretty Little Bow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tsukibeam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsukibeam/gifts).



> Permission was granted by the wonderful [Anni](http://fairygodpiggyart.tumblr.com/post/174394856407/the-prints-for-the-lingerie-boys-have-arrived-get) to borrow her spectacular Lingerie Boys concept for Ignis! Please check her artwork out, if you haven't already.
> 
> To tsukibeam, my giftee for the exchange: I hope you enjoy!

Solstice at the Citadel is rarely a somber affair — it’s been like this for as long as Noct can remember, since he was little and still believed in the Holly King. Something about this time of year always seemed to breathe new life into the place, and into his old man in particular. He still has fond memories of Solstices long since past, when his father would arrive one morning at breakfast in his gaudiest Solstice sweater, and everybody would finally know it was December.

Even with King Regis’s passing, Noct has kept up certain traditions in his honour: each year he attends the candle-lighting ceremony in the plaza just as his father did, where a child from the Royal Children’s Hospital presents him with a special Solstice candle, and they light it together to signal the return of the longer days. He even adds a sprig of holly to his royal raiment for the month, just as his old man once did.

One tradition he’d like to do away with altogether, though — one which he’s interminably bound to by duty and custom — is the Solstice Eve Ball.

He’s been attending these events since he was old enough to wear a suit; that doesn’t mean, however, that he approaches the occasion with any less dread with each year that passes. All the mingling and chitchat, all the meticulous etiquette to be upheld…

He remembers years gone by when his father would somehow always manage to duck away before everybody else, leaving guests and council members alike in consternation over his disappearance. Noct  _ still _ hasn’t figured out the mystery of how his dad used to do it; every attempt he’s made, he’s always run into some member of the Crownsguard, or some dignitary, or somebody from the catering staff, who politely ushers him back to the festivities before he can get very far.

Not this year, though. No — this year, he’s determined. He has a reason to leave things early, too: a gift for someone very special.

He plasters his smile a little wider as he takes a glance at the clock; still another twenty minutes before his scheduled distraction. If he’s lucky, he can slip away without anybody crossing his path, and it’ll be all smooth sailing from there.

He starts to get antsy as the minutes tick down and he ducks and weaves through the crowd, nodding and smiling politely and making as though he has somewhere to dash off to. With five minutes to go, he tracks his royal advisor down and pulls him aside.

The years have treated Ignis Scientia well; he’s settled into his joint duties of trusted advisor and chamberlain with aplomb, and somehow manages to carry out a dozen other tasks throughout his day with the effort it would take a lesser man to carry out one.

He certainly seems to have aged gracefully over the past decade, and he cuts a dazzling figure in his official Crownsguard attire of tailored black fabric and silver accents.

‘Everything all right, Your Majesty?’ Ignis asks, ducking his head low as they step away to a quieter corner of the festivities.

It’s clear from his tone and his body language that he’s concerned; it’s second nature for him to worry, especially with everything that happened ten years earlier.

‘All good, Specs,’ Noct says, with a furtive glance toward the main doors.

He knows Ignis doesn’t approve of the nickname being thrown around so publicly — the intimacy of their relationship might be a terribly-kept secret among the Crownsguard, but there are appearances to be upheld here where dignitaries and public figures roam freely.

‘You’re being rather mysterious, Noct,’ Ignis murmurs. ‘Can I trust that you’re at your best behaviour?’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Noct replies, waving his hand vaguely. ‘Just stick close.’

He’s counting down the seconds now, and his heart picks up in anticipation — and there it is, as the clock strikes nine: the double doors swing open just as the lively strains of music pick up from the band, and through the doors floods a stream of children wearing traditional Solstice costumes of green and gold, each holding baskets filled with small favours for the guests.

Everybody’s eyes are on the spectacle — it’s easy enough for Noct to grab Ignis’s hand and slip through the crowd, disappearing through a doorway and into the hallway beyond.

‘Noct—’ Ignis blurts.

‘Sh!’ Noct interjects. ‘Just stick with me. We’ve only got a little while before anybody realises we’re missing.’

He’s worried about Gladio, in particular; his shield is reluctant to leave him unattended for very long, his dedication bordering on paranoia at times. Once Noct’s sure that his shadow isn’t trailing behind, he tugs Ignis over to the elevator and ducks into it, jabbing the button for the floor of the royal apartments.

He can breathe a little easier now that they’re safely out. It probably won’t be long before somebody notices they’re gone, and it won’t take much to figure out  _ where _ he’s ducked off to, but with any luck they’ll have a  _ little _ privacy for a while.

‘Noct.’

He expects to find Ignis staring him down in stern reproach; instead, his advisor — his chamberlain, his lover, his oldest friend — looks at him with a fond smile.

‘Those children with the gifts,’ Ignis says. ‘That was your doing, wasn’t it?’

Noct doesn’t reply, but it’s difficult to keep the little smirk from twisting at his lips.

_ ‘Noct,’ _ Ignis says with a laugh. ‘How  _ underhand _ of you _.’ _

The king gives a shrug; what’s the point of being the ruler of an entire nation if he can’t abuse his power sometimes?

The elevator lets them off at their floor with a soft chime. There’s a member of the Crownsguard stationed outside as always, but she merely inclines her head as they pass, already more than privy to their relationship. Nobody stops them as they make their way at a brisk clip along the hallway, striding a comfortable distance apart.

‘There must be an easier way to sneak out, if that’s all you wanted,’ Ignis says, amusement making his green eyes sparkle. ‘I believe the late king used to bribe his guards with Solstice cinder cake to turn a blind eye.’

Cinder cake.  _ Of course. _

‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ Noct says with a laugh. ‘Sit tight. I’ll be right back.’

He sheds his cape as he goes and ducks into the bedroom, flipping on the lights. The cleaners regularly make the rounds in the apartments, but you wouldn’t know it to see his bedroom — clothes lie in disarray all over the floor, scattered about among files of varying importance. Really, the only difference from his youth is that he’s traded his considerable video game collection for books.

He finds the gift easily enough, at least, where he’s squirrelled it away in the back of his closet; after taking a moment to fix the ribbon on the top of it, he hides it behind his back — no mean feat, given the size of it — and returns to the lounge area.

Ignis waits on one of the sofas, sitting back with his legs crossed neatly in front of him. He’s already helped himself to a drink from the liquor cabinet; another sits on the glass coffee table in front of him, ready for Noct.

‘Drinks, Specs?’ Noct remarks, raising an eyebrow. ‘I thought you didn’t approve of our little excursion.’

Ignis sighs, a sound Noct has heard  _ many _ a time over the decade since he began his reign, let alone in the many years of their friendship prior to it.

‘When you take a notion, it’s impossible to dissuade you from it,’ Ignis says. ‘You’re rather like your father, in that regard.’

Noct wrinkles his nose. Normally it pleases him to be compared to the late and great King Regis, but tonight he doesn’t really want to think about his old man — not with the gift he’s about to give Ignis.

He moves past the other sofa across from Ignis, running his hand along the gilded frame around the back of it; when he gets to the end of it he leans toward the coffee table and sets the box down on its surface with a flourish.

‘For you, my love,’ he says. ‘Happy Solstice.’

All of it — the sneaking around, the pulling of strings to arrange the distraction — seems worth it now, as he sees Ignis’s eyes widen. His lips, such a beautiful shade of pink, part in surprise.

‘Noct,’ he says. ‘It’s not Solstice for another three hours, you needn’t have—’

‘It’s a Lucis Caelum tradition to give a small gift on Solstice Eve,’ Noct says, leaning his weight against the arm of the sofa beside him. ‘Besides, I know we won’t get much time alone together tomorrow, what with the candle-lighting and the feast. I wanted to give this to you in private.’

Ignis manages to compose himself somewhat as he leans forward and picks the box up from the table, setting his drink down in its place, although there’s a slight furrow of curiosity in his brow as he sets to teasing open the black velvet bow sealing it.

He moves carefully and methodically, as though the ribbon itself were precious cargo. Noct finds himself hungrily watching his lover’s strong, slender fingers as they work the knot apart and pull the loop open. Noct knows better than anybody just what those hands are capable of: pleasure and pain, hurt and healing.

His throat goes dry. Swallowing, he grabs his own drink from the table and settles onto the seat across from Ignis, slaking his thirst with a gulp of liquor.

Once the ribbon is undone, Ignis sets to work lifting the lid off and carefully places it aside. Next are the layers of black tissue, which he painstakingly opens like the petals of a flower, one by one. If Noct didn’t know better, he’d think Ignis was drawing the whole thing out — when he glances at his advisor’s face and finds the faintest smile on his lips, he thinks it might not be so far from the mark.

When finally —  _ finally —  _ Ignis is about to lift the last piece of tissue, he stops with his fingers hovering over it and glances up at the king, one eyebrow raised.

‘I hope you don’t think you’re getting  _ your _ presents early,’ he says sternly.

‘Just open the damn thing already, Specs.’

Ignis lifts his hand and taps his lips thoughtfully for a moment, and it’s now that Noct decides Ignis is  _ definitely _ dragging it out for effect. It’s frustrating, but Noct knows that protesting will only make the man all the more stubborn; he keeps his complaints to himself, feigning indifference as he sips his drink.

At last, Ignis returns his attention to the unwrapping, and lifts the final piece of tissue.

Even though Noct knows what’s within — even though he’s been planning this for months, even though he consulted with several designers and tailors who were sworn to secrecy, even though he’s already been to see the finished piece, where it has remained stowed in secrecy at the boutique for weeks since it was finished — it’s still breathtaking to look at it now, and watch Ignis’s reaction.

Nestled away amid the layers of black tissue, strands of thread infused with pure gold glint in the light. When Ignis picks the piece up, it seems to ripple in his hands like water catching sunlight; for a moment Ignis seems capable of doing little more than staring at it in awe.

Beneath it is a pair of lace panties in deep crimson, and thigh-high stockings to match. Noct’s particular excited to see Ignis in  _ those. _

‘Noct,’ Ignis says, breathless. When he lifts his eyes to meet his king’s, he looks genuinely lost for words.

‘What do you think?’ Noct says. ‘Do you like it?’

Ignis exhales, slowly. After a pause, he seems to have regained his composure — although there’s a little heat to his cheeks.

‘It’s beautiful,’ he says. ‘Thank you.’

Noct smiles. With another sip of his drink — the amber liquid slips into his belly, warming him from within — he sets it aside and rises, crossing the short distance to where Ignis sits. With a gentle, deft touch he strokes his lover’s cheek and tilts his chin upward, treating him to a chaste kiss.

When they part, there’s a fire in Ignis’s eyes. It’s a determination Noct has seen there many a time before, whether in the heat of battle or during a particularly tense council session. He’s more than a little intrigued to see where it may lead.

Ignis reverently returns the lingerie to its box, replacing the lid of it. When he looks at Noct again there’s something coy about his expression, something that makes Noct’s heart pick up in anticipation.

‘I know I said you wouldn’t get your gifts early this year,’ Ignis says, ‘but I  _ may _ have been rather hasty. I’m sure there’s no harm in giving you  _ one _ little treat.’

Noct curls his lips into a smirk. He thinks he knows where this is going.

He watches as Ignis rises gracefully, like a cat, to his feet. With a flash of teasing green eyes, Ignis holds the box in his hands and strides past Noct, all the way to the entrance of the suite. He pauses at the door, turning back with a mischievous glance.

‘Wait here, if it please Your Majesty,’ he says. ‘I’ll call you when I’m ready.’

For the first ten minutes, Noct waits patiently enough with his liquor to keep him company. By fifteen, he’s starting to get antsy sitting around — by twenty, he’s about ready to burst into the other room to see if Ignis is even still in there.

Just before he can, however, he hears Ignis’s voice drift out.

‘Ready, Sire.’

Nothing about Ignis’s tone gives anything away, although Noct already has his assumptions about what’s in store for him. He downs the last of his glass — he poured himself a second when he realised Ignis was going to be a while — and heads for the door.

Within, he discovers the cause for the delay: Ignis has tidied away the worst of the clutter, and the room looks almost fit for a king again. That’s not the main focal point, however, and Noct soon forgets about the wait entirely as his eyes are drawn to the bed.

Ignis lies draped demurely across it, his long legs seemingly stretching for miles in front of him. Noct takes in the red stockings, dragging his glance upward from where his legs are crossed neatly at the ankles. He tracks along Ignis’s toned calves and up his muscular thighs, to where there’s a flash of creamy, perfect skin above the red fabric of the stockings. His gaze lingers for just a little while on the lace at Ignis’s hip, although his thighs are pressed together so coyly that Noct can’t catch so much of a glimpse of what those panties contain.

Above the waist, gold slinks across Ignis’s skin. It glitters in the light with each breath he takes, each minute ripple of his muscular torso. The strands are delicate enough that Noct can see the faint pink of Ignis’s nipples beneath, already hard in anticipation.

Around his neck is a gold choker; it clings to his skin, setting off the delicate flush of his throat. His glasses are off: a rare treat, Noct thinks, the better to see the clear green of his eyes were they sparkle suggestively.

Where Ignis lies, his hands are crossed delicately in front of him. Somehow, he’s taken the black ribbon from the gift box and tied it around himself, binding his wrists with a pretty bow. That he could do that on his own, with no help, is a testament to his talented fingers; it makes Noct’s cock ache to think of what wonders they’re capable of.

‘Ignis,’ he breathes. It’s a small miracle he doesn’t sink to his knees at the sight of all of this; as it is, he has to brace his weight against the doorframe.

On the bed, Ignis carefully shifts his weight, slipping his thighs open and planting his feet a hips-breadth apart. Beneath the confines of the red lace, Noct can see the first stirrings of arousal between his legs.

‘Happy Solstice, Your Majesty,’ Ignis purrs. ‘Would you like to unwrap your gift now?’

Maybe Noct could come up with a suitably witty response if he took the time, but he’s at the edge of his patience, already teetering precariously over it.

With one hand, he works open the clasps of his suit jacket; with the other, he grabs the edge of the door and pushes it shut. He sheds his jacket as he walks toward the bed; kicks off his shoes at the end of it, and climbs onto the plush mattress. As he crawls up the length of the bed, Ignis watches him with sultry eyes, his lips parted just slightly, tantalisingly.

‘You’re stunning,’ Noct says, stopping as he gets to Ignis’s feet and brushing his hand up his lover’s calf. ‘I wonder what the council would think if they could see the king’s advisor laid out like this.’

Ignis smirks.

‘I wonder what they’d think should they see their  _ king _ with such lust in his eyes.’

He’s teasing, taunting — playing at disobedience, where he’s pledged unwavering loyalty to his ruler in all other aspects of life.

Noct has to say, it’s doing  _ wonderful _ things to his cock.

He ignores the ache of it for now as he brushes his hand up Ignis’s leg. Once he gets to the freckled skin of his thigh, he moves his attention to Ignis’s wrists where they’re bound in front of him. It takes a gently tug of the tail of the bow to set it unravelling; once Ignis is free, he leans forward and slips his arms around Noct’s neck, pulling him into a kiss that’s  _ entirely _ unseemly of the advisor to the king.

Ignis pulls him down between his thighs; slips his strong, seemingly endless legs up and around Noct, wedging him in place.

Here, pressed so close, it’s impossible to ignore the protrusion of Ignis’s erection beneath his lace panties, the way it digs into Noct’s hip. The king’s cock throbs in answer, begging for release.

‘Aren’t you worried they’ll come looking for you?’ Ignis asks, a wry murmur. ‘This is quite a compromising position for them to find us in.’

‘Let them come,’ Noct says recklessly. ‘They can tear down the doors for all I care.’

Ignis’s chuckle is wonderful: husky and lyrical all at once. It makes him think of the Tenebraean psalms Ignis once recited to him, a clandestine rite reserved normally for the advisor’s countrymen. To hear those words in Ignis’s careful, attentive tongue had been a hallowed experience.

Noct finds Ignis’s thigh with his hand, pawing greedily at his flesh. Ignis rewards him for his efforts by pushing his hips upwards and grinding them smoothly, fluidly, against his own.

It’s inevitable, really, when Noct’s lust gets the better of him — inevitable, like the coming of the spring rains. He mouths messy, clumsy kisses into the length of Ignis’s throat, and gyrates his hips against Ignis’s in turn, and if not for the barriers of each of their clothes he’d probably fuck his advisor right here and now.

Ignis’s eyes flash as Noct pulls back to meet them; he’s at once submissive — a kitten, really — and a minx. When he tilts his head  _ just so _ , pouting his lips ever so slightly, Noct can’t stop the soft gasp of  _ wanting _ that escapes his lips.

‘How would you like me, Your Majesty?’ Ignis asks, eyelashes fluttering.

This isn’t the man who commands respect at the council table — not the man who cut down so many foes during the trials of ten years earlier. Nor is he the advisor who used to chide his future king for not eating his vegetables, or for letting his apartment go to ruin.

‘On all fours,’ Noct says, hoarsely.

Ignis unwraps his legs from around his king with all the elegance of a dancer, and once Noct moves back on the bed to give him room, Ignis rolls lithely onto his front. His ass rises gracefully, his hands gliding down the satin sheets as he pushes himself onto all fours. Once he’s there, a gift laid out for the taking, he glances almost innocently back over his shoulder.

‘Like this, Sire?’ Ignis purrs.

Noct swallows. He might be king, but it’s abundantly clear who holds the real power tonight. He’s bewitched by the sight of Ignis, by the way the lace hugs the curve of his ass, the way the gold scatters flecks of light across his skin.

‘Yeah,’ he murmurs. ‘Like that.’

He’d be more than content just to watch Ignis like this, and his lover seems to play up to that as he winds a hand down between his legs. Noct watches the slender shape of his wrist, follows it down his long, elegant fingers, to where they smooth over the protrusion of his sex beneath his panties.

‘Would you like me to touch myself, Sire?’ Ignis asks. There’s a hint of amusement in his green eyes, and maybe if Noct weren’t so entranced by the sight of him he’d chastise his advisor for teasing him.

‘That’d be good,’ Noct says.

A smirk plays across Ignis’s lips, although he’s demure enough as he slowly closes his fingers around himself and kneads his fingers through the fabric. He seems to be enjoying it, too; as he works, his cock steadily begins to rise to attention and Noct can only look on with a dry mouth at the sight before him.

It’s only once Ignis gives a soft, sweet moan that Noct finally comes back to his senses and regains some of his composure. He’s the king, after all — and the lingerie might have been a gift for Ignis, but this is supposed to be  _ his _ treat.

‘Slip your panties down,’ he says briskly, as though he isn’t utterly under Ignis’s spell. ‘I wanna see you.’

His hand goes to his belt as he watches. As his fingers unclasp the buckle, his eyes drink in the sight of Ignis, greedily absorbing the vision of him hooking his thumbs beneath the delicate band of the lingerie. Steadily, tauntingly slowly, Ignis inches the red lace downward, letting it caress his ass as he goes.

It’s the ultimate tease for Noct, seeing his lover’s perfect, smooth behind come into view. He can already imagine himself sucking contusions into it, drawing pretty little marks out of the pale flesh, but he’s not so sure he has the patience or it — in the next heartbeat he’s imagining how it’ll feel to sink between Ignis’s cheeks, to bury himself to the hilt in his lover’s warmth.

‘Stop there,’ he says, as Ignis eases the panties down. ‘Spread your legs.’

Ignis does all this, and more; with the lace garment draped tantalisingly just below the hem of his stockings, he parts his legs and pushes his backside into the air until his entrance is on show, pink and eager.

Noct’s dick gives a throb, straining at the material of his slacks. As Ignis glances back to watch his reaction, he seems to spot the obvious show of his king’s arousal, and his eyes linger there, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

‘Are you going to take me, Sire?’ Ignis asks, desire ringing clear in his voice.

With his gaze still on Ignis, the king works his pants open and pushes them down. His erection pitches out the deep purple fabric of his boxer-briefs but he leaves them in place as he edges closer to Ignis. He presses flush against his lover; when his cock lines up within Ignis’s crease, the advisor gives a wanton moan.

‘Please, Noct,’ Ignis sighs. ‘I want you to take me…’

It’s depriving Noct as much as it is Ignis to tease, but he defies every urge to yank his underwear down and get things underway. Instead, he smoothes his hands up Ignis’s flanks, relishing the silky feel of his skin beneath his fingers, relishing the way Ignis’s muscular torso seems to fit perfectly within his grasp.

‘You’re so good, Ignis,’ Noct murmurs. ‘I love you like this…’

Beneath his touch, the advisor trembles — seems to vibrate with anticipation, his skin prickling into goosebumps. Noct feels Ignis push back against him, hips grinding slowly against his cock, and it’s enough to drag a choked gasp from him at the sensation.

Noct lowers his head, pressing his lips to Ignis’s shoulder and bringing his body flush against his lover’s. With one hand, he reaches across to the nightstand and digs around in the top of it, fingers finding what he seeks by touch.

It’s with some reluctance that he pulls away and sits back on his haunches to flip the cap of the lube. It’s some fancy, expensive mixture — a combination of massage oil and lubricant — and the heady smell of sylleblossom and orchid fills the room as he squeezes a healthy amount into the palm of his hand. A few nights earlier, Ignis had treated him to a massage with the stuff, and it had only been a matter before they’d been between the sheets together; Noct recalls it with a sly grin.

Ignis looks back at him, and when he registers the smile on Noct’s lips one eyebrow rises in curiosity.

‘Is something  _ amusing _ to you, my liege?’ he asks.

Noct shakes his head, although Ignis’s words only drag his grin all the wider.

‘Just thinking about that massage from a few nights back,’ he replies. ‘You know, you never did get that one spot that I asked you to rub…’

Ignis seems positively scandalised; he twists, pushing himself up onto his knees to look at Noct with an air of haughty defiance.

‘My  _ apologies, _ Sire,’ he says. ‘I can go put my clothes back on and get right to it, if you’d like…?’

Noct snorts.

‘No need to get hasty, Iggy,’ he retorts.

It’s all in jest, of course, but in case Ignis needed further convincing, Noct leans forward and presses his lips to his lover’s. Ignis slips an arm around Noct’s shoulders; his other hand moves down to grasp Noct’s wrist and guides it down between them, pressing Noct’s fingers to his entrance.

‘Allow me to make it up to you,’ Ignis purrs, pushing his hips back against Noct’s touch. A moment later his turning away from the king again, dropping once more on all fours.

Noct remembers the first few times they did this, when he’d been so scared of hurting Ignis. Now that he knows how much his advisor can take — that he  _ likes _ it rough and ready, at times — he’s less afraid of breaking his lover. He still takes his time in preparing him though, especially now: savours the task, and the way Ignis responds to his touch. It’s a wonder to watch him twitch as Noct first presses his fingers within; even more so to hear the little gasp as he begins stretching him open.

‘How’s that, babe?’ Noct says.

‘V- very good,’ Ignis stammers — and Noct can’t help smirking to himself. It’s funny that even after playing at the part of the tease, Ignis can slip back to his genteel self in the throes of pleasure.

It barely takes much to get Ignis ready, and by the end of Noct’s efforts Ignis is practically quivering for more. He drops his head between his shoulders, his breath coming out in a soft  _ huff; _ when Noct slips his fingers free of him, Ignis glances back with swollen lips as though to protest the absence of Noct’s touch.

He doesn’t have to wait very long, at least — Noct shoves his underwear down with considerable haste and slicks himself up with some of the lube, stopping with the tip of his cock at Ignis’s entrance.

‘Oh,  _ do _ stop teasing,’ Ignis says with a moan. His cheeks are a lovely pink, his eyes glazed over with lust.

‘You want it pretty bad, huh?’ Noct retorts. Grinning, he rubs the tip of his erection against Ignis’s entrance; feels it contract slightly against him.

‘And you’re not eager in the least?’ Ignis counters.

As if to prove his point, he rolls his hips slowly back against Noct, and as Noct’s cock crests the band of muscle around Ignis’s entrance, the tightness is enough to draw a grunt from the king’s lips.

‘I’d wager you want it  _ pretty badly, _ too,’ Ignis says.

He pushes back, easing himself onto Noct’s dick — Noct moves to meet him and soon he’s up flush with his lover’s ass, hands finding his hips and gripping on tight.

_ ‘Ignis,’ _ he murmurs, huffing out a breath as the heat envelops him. ‘You feel so good…’

All Ignis can seem to muster is a shuddering sigh as he drops his head once more between his shoulders; the movement makes the sharp angle of his shoulder blades more pronounced, and Noct leans forward to press a kiss between them, just above where the gold strands of his lingerie are draped.

Downstairs, there are probably people looking for them already — and if they’re looking for the king, they’re no doubt looking for his most trusted advisor in his stead. To Noct, they matter as little to him as if they were on the far side of the globe: tiny, insignificant trifles to be worried about later. They’re not at war, not any more. He can enjoy himself, for as long as this lasts.

There seems to be little urgency to Ignis’s movements, as well, as he works back onto Noct’s length. He’s slow and languorous about it, and Noct is more than happy to adopt the same pace, teasing out each thrust as though they have all the time in the world.

‘Touch yourself, babe,’ Noct murmurs at Ignis’s ear, with a quick kiss on his neck.

Ignis makes a soft sound of obedience. Noct feels Ignis shift beneath him as he slips a hand down; feels his shoulders ripple with each lazy, measured stroke he gives.

It dawns on Noct, as it often does, what a wonder his lover’s body is — the toned muscle, the perfect skin, the lithe frame. He’d spend hours exploring it, if he could.

Carefully, Noct rises to a kneel once more, never faltering in his thrusts. He braces himself at Ignis’s hips, fingers fitting neatly around the protrusion of them. With each thrust he rocks Ignis lightly, sending the threads rippling across his skin with a scattering of gold. It might be easy to get lost in the lightshow, but Ignis brings his attention right back with a low, breathy moan that sets the back of Noct’s neck prickling.

‘That’s right,’ he murmurs, smoothing his hands up Ignis’s sides, beneath the strands of gold. ‘Show me how good it feels.’

He gives another roll of his hips, this one a little more hasty, and the force of it knocks Ignis forward slightly and prompts a gasp from his lips.

_ ‘Noct,’ _ Ignis moans. He’s rarely so unrestrained in his daily life; it’s a treat to hear it.

‘You want me to go harder?’ Noct asks, his breath shuddering out, husky.

Ignis gives a nod. Even without that gesture, it’s plain from the way he clutches at the sheets beneath him that he wants more. Still, though — Noct wants to hear it.

‘What’s that?’ he prompts.

Ignis is quick to reply, ever obedient.

‘Please, Noct,’ he says.

Ignis shifts slightly, spreading his legs further apart, like he’s welcoming Noct in; when Noct rewards him by picking up the pace, it’s enough to shunt Ignis forward, where he buries his face in the pillow and bears his weight low on his elbow, ass to the air.

He’s too good, too  _ beautiful, _ too spellbinding like this. Noct wonders why they’ve never tried lingerie before, wonders if he could buy more for Ignis, wonders if Ignis might like  _ him _ in something similar, but such thoughts seem to scatter away into nothingness as the heat, the sensation washes over him.

He feels Ignis contracting around him, feels Ignis meeting the thrusts as best he can; when Noct digs sweat-slick fingers into his lover’s hips for purchase, Ignis chokes out a groan of pleasure that even the pillow can’t hope to silence.

Each thrust brings Noct’s hips flush with Ignis’s ass with a noisy  _ slap, _ and Ignis is starting to make little sounds now, little unrestrained whimpers that only seem to dial up in pitch as Noct moves harder, moves faster, moves  _ deeper. _

Noct doesn’t think he’ll be much longer; feels heat prickling at his collar, feels sweat trickling beneath the stifling layers of his raiment. Already his muscles are tensing in anticipation, and each breath is a shuddering hiss as it bursts from his lips.

‘Want to come inside,’ he manages to grit out, and it’s a wonder the words are coherent.

He hears a muffled sound — a moan, stifled by the pillow — and then Ignis lifts his head enough to utter a high-pitched, breathless,  _ ‘Please.’ _

In earnest now, Noct grabs on tight to the Ignis’s hips, so hard he’s sure it’ll leave marks of livid purple on that beautiful ivory skin. He braces Ignis, as firmly as he can, and he can hear Ignis gasping with each impact, and that sound only drives him onward, only sends him hurtling ever faster— 

A shout wells up in Noct’s throat, tearing free of his lips; he goes rigid, vision turning white, cock pulsing and throbbing as what feels like wave upon wave of his seed pumps from him.

When finally he recovers, his senses returning to him, he feels Ignis sag beneath him. He knows his lover would step away now unsated, if asked, but Noct wouldn’t dream of it.

He picks up again, even though the sensation is almost too much; cock still half-hard, its enough for him to work once more into Ignis as he drapes his body over that of his lover, arm winding down beneath him to cover Ignis’s hand where it still holds onto his own erection.

‘Let me,’ Noct murmurs; dutifully, Ignis slips his hand free and relaxes, his shoulders drooping as he settles into a more comfortable position.

Where moments earlier it was all frantic thrusts and beleaguered moans, Noct is gentle now, and diligent, as he smooths his fist all the way up to the head of Ignis’s cock, and back down again. While he works, still rolling his hips gently, carefully against him, Noct presses lazy kisses over Ignis’s shoulders.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ he murmurs, brushing his lips across Ignis’s feverish skin.

_ Beautiful _ hardly seems strong enough a word — hardly seems to cover the sheer vastness of the love and wonderment Noct feels in that moment, wrapped up in his lover — but for now it will have to do.

_ ‘Noct,’ _ Ignis sighs, and it’s a pretty sound, a plea for release.

It doesn’t take much at all, it seems, but Noct takes pleasure in teasing it out for as long as he can, coaxing Ignis’s climax from him with slow, lazy strokes. When the advisor comes, it’s not with a shout, not with abandon, but with a delicate, wonderful little gasp.

Noct rides him through it, easy and gentle; only stops once he feels Ignis’s body go lax beneath him. For a few long moments they remain in place, boneless and happy, chests heaving.

If Noct could fall asleep here, he would — probably wouldn’t be too long before he did, either, as he feels his eyelids growing heavy. It takes a true force of will to ease himself up from where he rests his cheek between Ignis’s shoulder blades — though not before laying a solitary kiss there — and straighten himself up.

He’s careful as he pulls out, and takes a little while to clean Ignis up first. It’d be a shame to spoil Ignis’s panties after he’s only worn them once, after all.

As Noct tends to himself, as if on cue, his phone buzzes from his jacket where it lies in a haphazard pool on the floor; Gladio, maybe. It’s a wonder it’s taken anybody this long to notice his absence.

Whoever it is — he’s not overly eager to find out, as he lets it ring through to voicemail — they can hang on a little longer, but they won’t wait  _ forever. _

‘We should return to the ball, Your Majesty,’ Ignis murmurs, his thoughts ever in sync with his king’s.

With a huff, Noct flops onto his back and runs a hand down Ignis’s flank as he curls up elegantly on his side.

‘You’re right,’ he mutters. ‘Just… let me pretend we don’t have to, for a little while.’

With a nod, Ignis leans forward, his lips meeting Noct’s in a gentle kiss.

For a while Noct holds him, fingers slipping idly through his lover’s dark blonde hair. Ignis, in turn, brushes his fingertips gently across Noct’s jaw, his breath coming out steady and even, soft and content.

‘Noct,’ Ignis urges, softly.

Noct heaves a sigh. It’s not a very kingly sound, but there’s nobody here to chastise him — nobody but Ignis, anyway.

‘Yeah, I know.’

With a considerable dose of reluctance, Noct pulls away and gets up, pushing a hand through his hair. It’s probably a mess, but he doubts he has time to fix it; his phone’s ringing again, and it’ll only be a matter of time before the angry text messages start coming through.

He rises to his feet, padding to the end of the bed and stepping into his shoes as Ignis carefully slips out of his lingerie.

‘Wait,’ Noct says, as his lover moves to slide his panties down from his hips. ‘Keep ‘em on.’

Ignis eyes him suspiciously.

‘Are you suggesting I wear them back to the ball?’

Noct can’t help the grin that snags at the corner of his lips. He feels like a dirty old pervert, but the thought of Ignis mingling with the elite of Lucian society, prim and composed as ever in his formal attire, with a little slip of red lace underneath it all for only his king’s enjoyment — well, Noct can already feel his dick stirring again at the thought of it.

Noct doesn’t even need to respond; Ignis seems to read his mind, rolling his eyes with a long-suffering sigh. He still pulls the panties up, though, and Noct watches as he recovers his clothes from where he neatly left them aside.

To watch Ignis dress — to watch the flash of red disappear beneath the starched confines of his slacks — is almost as much of a tease as it would be to watch it in reverse.

As Ignis steps away to neaten his hair in the mirror, Noct can’t resist stepping up behind him, arms slipping around his middle. He watches in the mirror as Ignis carefully smoothes each strand of hair back into its rightful place, and if not for the lingering flush of his cheeks, nobody might ever know what he’d been up to. Once his glasses are carefully set back in place, he’s the faithful advisor once more.

Noct, where he watches over Ignis’s shoulder, is another story; one glance at Noct’s reflection in the mirror is enough to have to have Ignis uttering a sigh of exasperation and twisting around to attempt the task of making him look decent.

‘What am I going to do with you?’ Ignis says fondly.

Once he’s done — he seems to give up after a while, realising the futility of the task — he cups Noct’s cheek, and the king turns into the caress, touching his lips to Ignis’s hand.

‘Can I ask you something?’ Noct says, covering Ignis’s hand with his own.

‘Ask away, darling,’ Ignis replies.

Noct narrows his eyes shrewdly.

‘How on Eos did you tie that bow by yourself?’

Ignis is tender as he strokes his thumb across Noct’s bottom lip; there’s a twinkle in his eyes, however, which belies the gentleness of the gesture.

‘I’d do anything for you, Noct,’ he says, his lips forming an elusive smile. ‘But I’m afraid a sorcerer must never reveal his secrets.’


End file.
